


Chance Encounter

by humanveil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 02:21:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10066067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: Written for the prompt combination of ‘Severus/Draco in a train compartment with a cauldron.’





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt combination of  _Severus/Draco in a train compartment with a cauldron_ for the Clue(do) Ficathon over at [rairepair_shorts.](http://rarepair-shorts.livejournal.com) Enjoy!

Draco glares at the dirty cauldron, hand gingerly holding onto its handle. If it were up to him, he’d have thrown the bloody thing out. He didn’t see how it could be of any further use. The insides were ruined by remaining clumps of a potion experiment gone wrong, and there was a frankly foul smelling odour emitting from it that made him want to move as far away as he possibly could.

As it were, his father was adamant that he returned home with it, claiming something about it being crafted with rare materials. Draco hadn’t exactly listened; he just knew it was in his best interests to get the thing back to the Manor, despite its ruined contents.

Which is how he finds himself boarding a train to Wiltshire.

Normally he’d have just used Blaise’s floo to get home, but the cauldron was too big to easily move through their fireplaces, and he hadn’t wanted to risk apparating with it. There was always a chance that the remnants of their failed potion would touch him, and Draco didn’t fancy the idea. Not when it looked like it could burn a hole through his robes.

So instead he decides to get the train. There are too many people at first – too many curious looks and distasteful glances, too many loud children. He walks through the carriages, searching for the one with the least amount of people. At least it’s a magical train, he thinks.

He ends up at the backend of the train, face turned in a tired scowl as he pushes the door to the last carriage open. He does it a little more aggressively than he should have, the door opening with a bang, but he pays it no attention as he walks through.

Thankfully, this part of the train is empty. There’s a figure resting at the back corner – a lithe body lying in a sea of black – but they’re the only one there with him.

Letting out a relieved sigh, he places the cauldron in one of the corners and moves to a spot on the opposite side. He drops into it ungracefully, kicking his legs up on the seat and letting his head drop against the light padding. It was a long ride home, and he’d been up the whole night. He deserved to be comfortable, at the very least.

He lets his eyes shut gently, listening as they move along the tracks, passing by fields of green at a steady speed. It’s almost blissful at first, the carriage pleasantly quiet in comparison to the others, and he drifts in the space between conscious and asleep. The only disturbance is the odour still coming from the cauldron, but he’s been around it long enough now that he barely acknowledges it.

The peace lasts for the first thirty minutes or so. He isn’t dumb enough to fall properly asleep on a public train, so he can still hear the shuffle of people entering and exiting the carriages with each stop. He ignores it for the most part, only listening to know if someone will intrude his space, but his carriage remains empty aside from the figure in the corner.

Which is why an annoyed sigh and the tapping of feet get his full attention.

His body jumps awake, mind instantly alert as he looks for the source of the noise. His movements are halted by shock when he sees the man in front of him.

“Surely,” drawls Severus Snape, “I taught you how to clean a cauldron?”

He’s towering over him, wrapped up in black and only slightly ruffled – like he’d been sleeping, or something close to it. He holds on to the back of Draco’s seat, keeping himself steady as the train glides on.

Draco simply blinks at him for a moment, surprised to see him standing there. It had been three years since the end of the war, and Draco could count on one hand the number of times anyone he knew had seen Snape, himself included. The man simply didn’t go to public events.

Not that bumping into each other on a train was a public event. It was just surprising.

“Yes,” he says eventually, voice croaky from disuse. He coughs, clearing his throat. “First year, I think.”

“Then why does yours smell as if it’s been sitting in a sewer for days?”

Draco looks past him to where the too-large cauldron sits, clattering softly with the movements of the train. He grimaces slightly, more than a little embarrassed that Snape – of _all_ people – had seen the evidence of his failure. “Well,” he starts, looking back to his ex-professor. “I’m not particularly fond of touching it. The insides are kind of… yuck.”

He can _feel_ Snape roll his eyes, even if he doesn’t do it physically. The sentiment rolls off him in waves.

“Draco.”

“Come and look at it,” he exclaims, standing abruptly. He steps past Snape, moving towards the cauldron, and takes it by the handle again. He hears Snape move behind him, feels the man stand next to him. “Does _that_ look appealing to you?”

Snape offers the green-brown, clumpy fluid a distasteful glance. “Rarely do the contents of a cauldron look appealing,” he says. “However, it’s no reason to bestow their smell on other people.”

“You looked asleep,” Draco says in defence.

“I wasn’t.”

Draco sighs. Of course he wasn’t. He wasn’t the type to let his guard down like that. “Took you long enough to complain.”

“There’s only so much I can endure.”

“Well what do you suggest I do?” He shifts the cauldron as he speaks, and instantly regrets it when a fresh wave of the smell hits him. “I don’t like it any more than you do, and I’m stuck with it for another two hours.”

Snape leans forward, inspecting it closely. Draco can see him hold his breath.

“What was it intended to be?

“Ah, an altered batch of Felix Felicis.” He shifts awkwardly, embarrassed that he’d managed to stuff up _that_ much. Snape merely raises his brow at him. “Father wanted a batch,” he explains, sighing. “The altered recipe was more complicated. Blaise said he could help, so I went to his house. And then this happened.” He says it with a scowl, giving the cauldron an annoyed glance.

“I see.”

“I’m usually better,” Draco adds. He isn’t sure why, but he feels the need to defend his ability. “Really.”

“I know,” Snape tells him. “I remember.”

“Oh,” Draco breaths, lips twitching at the recognition of his talent. “Good.” And then, “Any suggestions?”

“Have you tried to banish it?”

“Of course we did. We aren’t idiots.”

“And?”

“It only made it worse,” Draco says. “Didn’t want to risk any more spells in case they had the same reaction.”

“Right.” Snape takes the cauldron from him, nudging him back gently. Draco watches as he pulls his wand from under the surprisingly soft looking outer cloak and points it towards the remaining fluid.

He murmurs an incantation, a pale pink glow emitting from the tip of his wand, and Draco looks to see what happens. There is no physical shift – the insides still look like a gooey kind of vomit – but the air around them does start to smell nicer.

As Severus places the cauldron back in its original spot, wand sliding back into its holder, Draco smiles. “I didn’t take you for the strawberry scent type.”

“No? What did you imagine?”

One shoulder lifts in an elegant shrug. “Sandalwood. Dragon’s blood. A cackling fire,” he lists. “That sort of thing.”

“Should I be concerned at how much thought you’ve given this?” Severus asks, eyeing him oddly.

“Maybe.”

Snape’s lips twitch upwards momentarily, though he decides not to comment on it directly. “As much as I prefer the scent of sandalwood, there isn’t a spell for that.”

He moves to return to his original seat, and Draco follows. It’s still just the two of them in the compartment, so he has no issue leaving the cauldron there for the time being. He doubts anyone would be inclined to take it, anyway.

“You’ll have to teach me that, you know,” he says, taking a seat across from Snape. “Merlin knows it’d be useful in the lab.”

Snape hums, non-committal. He leans back against his seat, and Draco looks around; noting the small trunk and blanket.

“Travelling?”

“Returning.”

Draco looks up, interested. “Where’ve you been? Everyone’s always speculating. Blaise is certain you’ve moved to an old mansion in the middle of nowhere to bask in the vampire lifestyle.”

Snape snorts. “Mr. Zabini did always have fun with that rumour,” he comments. “But no, I’ve been in Germany, mostly. Working with old acquaintances.”

“Sounds like an exciting holiday,” Draco comments, sarcastic.

“We’ve different tastes,” Severus tells him. “At least some. You’ve been in a lab?”

“Yeah. Occasionally,” Draco confirms. “I get bored.”

“Going off your cauldron, I assume you’ve had no further training.”

“No,” he says. “Why? Are you offering?”

“Not exactly. Though I have been known to have an apprentice or two.”

“I’d take you up on it, if you did offer,” Draco admits. “I‘d have to live with you, wouldn’t I? I could finally find out if you really do sleep in a coffin.”

“Interesting that you assume you’d be witness to my bedchamber.”

Draco feels his face heat at the implication in that sentence. He thinks of changing the subject, but the platform is open for it now, so instead he says, “One can dream, can’t they?”

He says it with a smile, and Snape just gives him a look. It could mean _don’t_ or it could mean _go on_ – Draco isn’t given the chance to properly decipher it.

“Owl me in a week,” Severus says. And then, “For an apprenticeship. I know where your mind went.”

Draco laughs softly. “Really?”

“Yes. We can’t have _that_ ,” he gestures towards the direction of Draco’s cauldron, “continuing. I fear for your safety.”

“At least you’d be thinking of me,” Draco says without thinking, and then pauses momentarily, almost ashamed. “I mean... thanks.”

Snape doesn’t say anything back. Draco isn’t sure if he’s thankful or not.

They share the compartment for the rest of their journey. Mostly they sit in a comfortable silence, watching as England’s scenery passes them, though Draco does ask questions every now and then.

When Snape stands to leave, he reminds Draco to owl. Draco merely nods and watches him go with a smile.

*

Just over a week later, Draco sends an owl like he’d been told to. He receives a response not long after, the letter containing instructions on how he should proceed.

At the end it reads: _Don't forget to b_ _ring the cauldron. I don’t want you to ruin any of mine._


End file.
